


It Could Be Worse

by Introsquirrel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Meteor, its a songfic without being a songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introsquirrel/pseuds/Introsquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life may suck but at least Dave still owns a copy of Grease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Could Be Worse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [divisio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisio/gifts).



> If you aren't familiar with Grease I feel bad for you. [Here's](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGzBZJHhHsc) all you need to know for this fic. Shoutout to Divisio for sneakily prodding me into writing this.

You find him tucked into one of those crevices built into the walls, perched on a chest. You weren’t even looking for him but you don’t have anything to do, so you change route and meander his way. He’s balled himself up so small that he can actually bring his knees all the way up to his chin without his feet sliding off the domed top. Hiding face in crossed arms and trying to take up the least amount of space possible, as if you’re all choking for more empty space in giant abandoned laboratory probably made to house at least a hundred people and currently housing six and a half residents instead. A picture of pure dejection and radiating a “leave me the fuck alone” aura. You ignore it and walk right past it to the inner atmosphere, which is “oh god I’m alone and everyone is only pretending to like me.”

Before you even settle your rump next to him you hear a muffled, “fuck off.”

“Tempting,” you say, and sit down anyway. He tenses and curls even tighter, like you’re going to tear him apart and stuff him in a test tube.

Neither of you say anything for a while; you take the opportunity to lean back and close your eyes. Terezi has been encouraging you to observe your environment with senses that aren’t sight. You listen, picking apart the sounds from each other. The constant distant hiss of the horrorterrors that you immediately dismiss; the lab’s clanks and creaks; that weird _whrrr_ noise that you can never pinpoint; you drawing in breath from your nose; Karkat’s increasingly strangled sniffles and that horrible noise that you suppose is a sob, but you always think of begging. Begging your brain to stop, begging your eyes to stop, begging the whole goddamn universe to just stop.

The fact that you can sympathize with Vantas on that intimate of a level is weirdly distressing. You don’t like being distressed so you attempt to be all calm and cool and totally wise like a mountain guru. Hell yeah.

“Wanna talk about it,” you ask, falling off the side of the mountain and becoming an idiot instead.

He lifts his head up but doesn’t look at you. “There is absolutely-“ his voice cracks and slurs; a rusted engine doused in lubricant and expected to function, “absolutely nothing I want- I want to talk about w-with you. Fuck.” The last part is muffled again.

“Kay,” you say. You tried. Gold star for you. “Don’t try to suppress anything for my sake.”

“Go the fuck away.”

“I’m not under your knees, dude. All I’m hearing is someone growling while being gagged with a sock.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“Tell you what, if you actually spew your words in my direction, towards me and directly me, then I’ll slash off a rule in my little black book of shit I don’t want you doing and let you touch my cape.”

“I don’t want to touch you stupid grubshitting, pretentiously useless cape,” mutters the lump of worn cotton and misery.

“Lies, there isn’t a soul, dead or not, in the entirety of paradox space who doesn’t want to touch my cape. My cape is the shit. It’s basically the coolest thing around except for me and the mayor. Okay, the mayor is the coolest. Cooler than cool. Ice cold. Alright alright alright alright.”

Obscure pop culture reference achieved; you mentally pat yourself on the back.

A frustrated chain of muttered incoherency.

“Mutter mutter muffled grubf-cking mutter mutter fragga shnaaga maggot,” you say.

“Did-“ unintentional squeak that is admittedly kind of cute in the most tragic way possible, “Did you actually come down here fffffor something other than harassing me, or should I just crawl into this chest and wait for asphyxiation to make me a permanent resident of the fucking dream bubbles, waving cheerfully as everyone zooms past me while tossing my b-body into the eternal darkness that is our reality?”

“Actually, I was just exploring but I heard you holding a one man Shakespearean tragedy over here and thought it would be better appreciated with an audience.” That didn’t come out right. “And by appreciated I mean ignored.” Fuck, that didn’t either. “I mean-“

“Glad my misery and humiliat-tion is what cranks your greasy human reproductive junk into a jubilant tizzy, you sick fuck. Go drown in a barrel of acid while chewing on the radioactive pieces of a slurry collection drone.”

You are actually mildly offended. “Wow, I do _not_ have a humiliation kink and don’t fucking put words in my mouth. The only reason I sat down is because you looked like you needed a friend.”

“Then let me ask you a very serious question, Strider,” he hisses, now actually glaring at you. His eyes are orange-ish and translucent red water trails down from his eyes to his chin. Even as he’s spitting in your direction he wipes them with a sleeve. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Ouch,” you say.

“Did you see me and go, hey! Look at the pathetic desperate freak sobbing alone in an obscure corner where no one would bother him. I should totally go bother him! Did you come over to brag, to gloat, to shove your awesome lifestyle filled with careless urban culture building? To dump chalk dust into my hair?”

“No,” you say. “I walked over to distract you.”

“Oh! A distraction. How wonderful. And what the ever shitchafing fuck were you trying to distract me from?”

Despite the fact that you’re wearing shades, you’re pretty sure he can tell you’re looking him in the eyes when you say, “Yourself.”

His anger morphs into something different, something much more pained and guilt ridden, like a kid who fucked something up that he doesn’t know how to fix or where even to start.

“And it worked,” you add, going back to slouching against the wall and staring at nothing in particular. “Who has time to feel sorry for themselves when Dave Motherfucking Strider, trademark, is right there, such a convenient little filter to drain all the self-accusations and turn it into anger. Anger is energy, anger gets shit done. Misery is fucking useless, and it drags you down with it.”

Karkat, who had started to unfold himself with every scathing, spiteful sentence he threw at you, crunched back up into his little ball of shame. “Fuck you,” he says to his shoes. “I’m not miserable.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m just…”

“If the phrase ‘I got something in my gander bulbs’ comes out of your mouth, bro, I swear to god.”

“Romcoms.”

You side-eye him hard. “Romcoms,” you repeat. He gives a short nod, not looking at you, and you add, “Sounds legit.”

“Damn straight it’s legit.”

“Fucking romcoms, man. How dare they.”

“You don’t even know half of the beauty that is an Alternian romcom.”

“Every time Terezi tries to explain one to me, I just kind of tune her out.”

Wrong thing to say. He snaps his head in your direction and sneers, “Wow, I’m relieved to hear that you’re treating her with the _upmost_ respect and listening to every insane detail that leaks from her talk blaster. What the hell does she even see in you.”

“What can I say,” you shrug, “I’m just that hot.

“I’m going to vomit all over you.”

“I’ll reinstate your exclusion from cape touching privileges.”

“Was that a threat? That was the worst goddamn threat I’ve ever heard and you’re the worst example of a sentient being. Why don’t you go find _Terezi_ instead, huh? I’m sure she has a lot to say that you haven’t heard yet because you go out of your way to ignore her.”

“No offense dude,” you say, “but romcoms aren’t really that important. I listen when she’s talking about shit that matters.”

“Fuck you, emotionless bulgemuncher.”

“Not feeling very creative tonight, are you.”

He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are still shinier than usual.

In all honesty you actually did come over to cheer him up but now you are wondering how the hell you thought you could do that. You don’t even know what he likes besides Terezi and romances and those are pretty much sensitive topics to him. Well, maybe you could try an alternative romance approach. Romance film, not romancing him. That would be kind of weird. Like, making it all about you again without being the villain. You may not be a hero but you definitely aren’t the antagonist.

And really dumb idea strikes you and you roll with it.

“There are worse things I could do,” you say, to a bit of a tempo. Karkat glances over at you. “Than go with a girl-“ dramatic pause “-or two.”

“What,” he says.

“Even though the meteor thinks I’m trashy and no good – okay, really it’s only you, not gonna lie I’m pretty awesome – I suppose it could be true.” You shrug and cock your head at him. “But there are worse things I could do.”

“Why are you talking like that,” he says, looking mildly alarmed.

Now you actually start singing because why the fuck not. “I could flirt,” give him what you hope is a dashing smile, “with all the guys.” Next line you look at him over your glasses and wink; “Smile at them and bat my eyes.”

“What.”

You lean on to him, pressing your shoulders together. “Press against them with we dance;” and you use your opposite arm to hook under his chin and get _really_ close to his face. “Make them think they stand a chance.” And then you back off. “Then refuse to see it through, that’s a think I’d never do.” You push him away and turn your head in the corniest way possible as if you’re swooning. Karkat looks a little shell-shocked.

Jumping up with a dramatic whoosh of your cape you manage to belt out, “I could stay home every night and wait around for Mister Right. Take cold showers every day and throw my life away on a dream that won’t come true.”

He looked legitimately pissed now. “You little taint licking shit-“ Whoops.

“I could hurt,” you croon, much quieter and take his hand gently. He shuts right up. “Someone like me out of spite,” you pull him up and he almost doesn’t get his feet under him fast enough and stumbles into you. “Or jealousy.” A hand around his waist to support him and whoa this got personal fast.

“I don’t steal and I don’t lie but I can feel and I can cry,” well fuck it, you think and pull him into a hug, which puts your mouth right around his temples. To keep from blowing out his ear drums and pissing him off again you drop the volume. “A fact I’ll bet you never knew. But to cry in front of you;” he stops breathing, “that’s the worst thing I could do.”

You stay like that for a moment to let your voice resonate in the empty hallways metallically. Karkat impersonating a space heater; you did not realize he was actually a legitimate source of energy holy shit, you could probably power a small city with him.

After about two more seconds it starts getting a little awkward and Karkat still hasn’t taken another breath. You hop back maybe a bit too quickly but uh. That sure was. A… moment.

“Welp,” you say, “Look at that, you look better already.” He’s staring at you like he’s never seen you before. “You wanna watch Grease?”

It takes him a second. “…What.”

“Grease. It’s a human movie. Where that song came from.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, classic.”

He opens his mouth two times before he manages to say something. “…Okay.”

“Great,” you say. “I’ll go set up, get the mayor and the girls, open up with the discussion topic, ‘How Big Of A Douchebag Is Danny’ and we can all laugh at, uh, what’s her face. The pink one.”

“Uh.”

“It’s a romance,” you say.

He visibly brightens. Like, a lot. It’s like he’s trying to hold back a smile which wow have you ever seen him actually smile, legitimately, without sarcasm? The thought kind of breaks your heart and you aren’t sure why.

“I’ll make some grubcorn,” he says.


End file.
